


More Things In Heaven And Earth

by Berty



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Case Fic, M/M, Psychic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Berty/pseuds/Berty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kidnapping of a young girl leaves Fraser and Vecchio struggling against time to find her until help arrives in the shape of Ray Kowalski, a man with a talent, a heart and a past he'd rather forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Things In Heaven And Earth

The door was unlocked, although a yellowing "Closed" sign hung prominently against the dusty glass. From the back of the darkened shop, a golden glow shone through another door left slightly open, and it was by this meagre illumination that Fraser made his way through the congested room.

The smell of fresh wood made him think briefly of his home, but the overtones of dust and varnish kept him solidly rooted in backstreet Chicago. He noticed how Ray was running unconscious fingers over the displayed furniture as they made their way towards the light - his expression obscured by the dim interior of the shop.

"Mr. Kowalski?" Fraser called. The sound of music became louder as they neared the door, something with a compulsive, heavy beat.

"Stanley? Yo! Anyone home?" Ray yelled.

"Ray, you know he hates Stanley. Don't piss him off before we've even asked," Francesca hissed at her brother, but Fraser had no idea if her concern was justified. It was hard to tell when Ray was being antagonistic, as his innate demeanour seemed to be quite confrontational.

"Frannie, the guy's _name_ is Stanley. It's right there on his crappy little shop window, S.R.Kowalski. And this...?" With a flick of his wrist he indicated the tired-looking surroundings. "...this is a monumental waste of my time, so I will piss off whoever I choose, you hear me? I don't know why I let you talk me into this stuff."

For a moment it seemed that a fraternal contretemps would ensue, but Francesca simply rolled her eyes and knocked tentatively and pointlessly on the door before pushing it open.

The room was dark but for one bare overhead bulb. Crammed with a tumble of unfinished furniture, the place looked more like a shipwreck than anything else. Only the tools on the wall showed any signs of order – each in its assigned place, each cared for, sharp and bright.

In the pool of light a slim man was bent low over a workbench, intent on the piece of wood he was planing. Fraser wondered how he could see anything with the inadequate illumination. On the shelf above the man's head a CD player was spilling music into the room, loud and chaotic in marked contrast to the care and skill being demonstrated by his hands on the wood.

"Mr. Kowalski?" Fraser enunciated clearly over the background noise. He didn't want to startle the man, but a subtle approach was clearly not an option given the screaming guitar solo that had just begun.

"I'm closed," Kowalski shouted without even bothering to look up.

"We're not here for furniture, Stanley," Ray replied sarcastically.

Kowalski's head jerked up and his back stiffened. "Vecchio," he said, and Fraser was surprised to hear a note of scorn in his voice. Kowalski's eyes darted to each of his three visitors in turn, wary and quick.

Fraser took Kowalski's appraisal of them as a moment to do some examining of his own. The man looked to be in his mid-thirties, although the tightness around his eyes made Fraser think that he'd seen a lot in that time. He was approximately the same height as Fraser, and his hair was a chemically enhanced gold/blonde colour, with a glimpse of his darker, natural colour at the roots. He wore dusty, washed-out jeans and a tight, pale grey t-shirt with contrasting collar and cuffs. Fraser could see that he worked hard – his physical exertions were evident in the defined musculature of his chest and arms.

To Fraser he looked like he was expecting something - perhaps a confrontation of some kind. But as Kowalski's eyes lit on Francesca, his face softened. Fraser blinked at the sudden difference this change of expression engendered. The man's body language, challenging and guarded before, became more fluid and natural.

Fraser wondered what kind of a daily life this man led that his instant reaction to any new situation was to fight first and listen second.

"Frannie!" Kowalski put down his plane awkwardly and reached up to dial the music down to a less uncomfortable level before moving to Francesca and kissing her gently on the cheek. "How are you?"

Fraser watched the exchange with growing surprise. The smile that Francesca returned to this contradictory man was quite unlike her usual sassy self. He had noticed that Francesca had two default modes when talking to members of the opposite sex: she was abrasive and sarcastic (reserved usually for her brother and Detectives Huey and Gardino), or she was coquettish and arch (with men she perceived as potential mates).

Lamentably, and despite his best efforts, Fraser knew that he fell into the latter category.

However, the genuine smile that Francesca gave Kowalski was both gentle and pretty, and made her look very much less alarming than Fraser normally found her to be.

"Good. I'm good. How have you been?" Fraser could tell from the tone of her voice that things had not been good at all for Mr. S.R. Kowalski of late.

Kowalski smiled tiredly and nodded. "Fine, Frannie. Fine." And that was a lie told for Francesca's benefit, Fraser would bet on it - not with money mind you - but he was certain of it nonetheless.

"That's touching, Stanley, really," Vecchio interrupted rudely.

"Hey, Vecchio, written any good parking tickets lately?" Kowalski growled, doing another lightning-fast mood change as he turned to Ray with a sudden scowl on his face.

"Aww, funny man," Vecchio returned quickly.

"Yeah, whatever. What do you want?"

Neither Francesca nor Ray seemed to have an answer for this question, so Fraser spoke. "We wondered if you might be able to help us with our current investigation, Mr. Kowalski."

"And you are?" Brows drawn down, cautious eyes not making any meaningful contact and his fingers fidgeting at his sides, this Stanley Kowalski looked a lot like a wolf, unsure of whether to bare his teeth or welcome the unknown individual.

"Ah, of course. Excuse me. I'm Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police…"

"He first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father…" Ray sing-songed.

"…and for reasons that don't need exploiting at this junction, he has remained, detached as…" Frannie faltered, so Fraser picked up the finale.

"Liaison with the Canadian Consulate," he finished with a serious nod.

Kowalski blinked at the three of them in turn, and then with a half-smile that twisted somewhat, held out a chary, long-fingered hand. "Ray Kowalski."

Fraser took the proffered hand and shook it heartily. His father had always taught him that you could measure the mettle of a man from his handshake. "Too strong and he's got something to prove. Too weak and he's got something to hide, son."

Fraser had gotten to be rather good at shaking hands. He'd had a lot of practice when saying goodbyes to his father.

Kowalski's handshake was neither too strong nor too weak, but easy, and his rough palm spoke of the hours he must have spent in this dim, cluttered workshop.

Fraser was about to explain further when Kowalski suddenly stilled, his hand going rigid but still holding on. Eyes that had been evading his gaze since he walked in were now boring into Fraser, wide and… frightened?

_… snow… mittens… a woman with brown hair and a kind but tired smile holding his hand… a uniform, his hands clumsy, putting it on for the first time… a woman, tiny, with dark tumbling hair, red mouth and dead eyes, skin paler than the snow that fell on her eyelashes, her cheeks, her lips… a practical looking man, gruff and simple, there but somehow not… a little girl, a dark room, a man with a gun, the sound of a shot…_

Kowalski slowly let Fraser's hand go. Holding his own hand away from him as if it was somehow tainted, he stepped back, leaning slightly, presumably to allow what little light there was fall onto Fraser's face. Fraser waited for him to explain this curious behaviour, but the man seemed to close down in front of his very eyes, his head going down, his shoulders hunching as he crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. "What do you want?" he asked flatly.

Fraser mentally shook himself. "Well, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure. We are in the process of investigating the abduction of a young girl. So far our efforts have proven to be frustratingly unproductive. Miss Vecchio suggested that you might be able to help us in some way, although I'm not…" Fraser heard himself trail off as Kowalski reacted to his words, moving his hand up to his eyes, then sliding it lower to cover his mouth. He looked almost as if he were in to be in some kind of pain.

"Mr. Kowalski, are you all right?"

"I can't help you," he said in a dead voice, looking directly at Francesca as if neither Fraser nor Ray Vecchio were in the room.

"That's what I said," Ray stated flatly. "A monumental waste of my time and effort, isn't that what I told her, Benny?"

But Fraser was watching the interaction between Kowalski and Francesca with interest. Ray's sister was fidgeting with her bag and avoiding Kowalski's strangely accusatory gaze.

It was quite unnerving to see a speechless Francesca.

"So we'll be on our way, Stanley. Sorry to have dragged you away from your… uh… lump of wood," Ray was saying.

"Please, Ray Kay." Francesca's voice came surprisingly quietly, only just audible over the music.

Kowalski raised an eyebrow at the nickname, obviously something he hadn't heard in a while. "Frannie… I'm sorry. It's just something that I don't… I can't…"

"It's Teresa Pisano's daughter, Ray," she continued softly. "You remember Terri? She wore a retainer until she was about nineteen? She had a brother, Marco, and a sister, Angela?"

Kowalski nodded slightly.

"She married Anthony Lombardi when they were both twenty and they had four kids, one after another. The girl that's missing is their youngest, Anna. And all she did to deserve this was to have an uncle called Tino who just happens to have a big mouth and be in the bad books with some mob guy." Francesca paused, drew a tired breath and looked up. "She's ten, Ray. Do you remember being ten years old? With all your life in front of you? When anything was possible? Well, that's all over for Anna unless we find her soon, Ray. _Really_ soon."

Kowalski lifted his eyes to the low ceiling of his disorganised workspace and blew out a huge breath. "Frannie, I want to help, I do, but you have no idea what you're asking."

"I do, Ray." Her eyes flicked away. "I saw Stella last week."

Fraser was struggling to keep up with this exchange. It was obvious to him that they had been acquaintances, if not friends, when they were younger, and although Ray didn't seem very close to him - in fact positively antagonistic - it was clear that Kowalski and Francesca had 'history', as Ray would have put it.

He had gathered that Francesca had reminded Kowalski of the people they grew up with, but this sudden reference to a Stella had him thrown. The only Stella that Fraser knew was the ASA Stella… Kowalski. Could it be that this man was related to that sharp-faced, sharp-minded woman? There was some resemblance in the pale eyes and the dark blonde hair. But the look of pain that flashed briefly across Kowalski's face was not that of a brother. Indeed it was quite possible this moody, compelling man had been married to ASA Kowalski and, furthermore, Fraser guessed, he wasn't reconciled to their obvious estrangement.

Kowalski looked tense as he starred hard at each of them for a few seconds, rolling the beads of an unusual chain he wore at his wrist between his restless fingers. "I need…" he spoke, almost inaudibly. "I need a… I can't just…"

Francesca scrabbled quickly in her bag and produced an evidence wallet, holding it up so the thin gold chain and crucifix within were easily visible.

"Frannie, how in the hell did you get that?" Ray demanded angrily, but his sister ignored him, her hopeful gaze on a conflicted-looking Kowalski.

"You'd better come upstairs," he said, his movements purposeful and quick, but he sounded almost broken.

~O~O~O~

Kowalski's apartment was indeed directly above his shop. If the décor reflected his personal style, then Fraser considered that it could be called eclectic. Nothing matched anything else; everything seemed to have been shoved in where it would fit rather than where it would look best. It was clean but untidy, rather like the man himself. Touches of whimsy appeared here and there: the string of chilli-shaped lights, the flamingo tableware left in the sink. A large terrarium, complete with turtle, stood beside a bike hanging on the wall while an entire shelving unit of CD's attested to a love of music.

On the whole, Fraser was comfortable there – it felt real and honest in a way the white tablecloths and polished wood of Ray's home didn't. He often got the impression that, when she wasn't trying to feed him, Mrs. Vecchio was itching to vacuum him.

"Nice place," Ray offered with an insincere smile, but Kowalski either didn't hear or chose to ignore his sarcasm.

Nor did he offer refreshments or to take anyone's coat, but simply led them all into the kitchen. He had to clear an alarming pile of unopened mail from one of the chairs - some of it official looking - before he was able to invite them to sit.

Once again Fraser felt deeply baffled by the direction their investigation was taking. He placed his Stetson carefully on the stack of mail – now balanced on the counter – and took one of the mismatched chairs, wondering what connection Kowalski had with the crime. He wasn't one to jump to conclusions based on limited information, but from what he'd seen of Kowalski, the man was hardly Mafia material.

He was even more perplexed when Frannie handed the evidence bag to Kowalski without a word. A glance at his partner told him nothing more than the fact that Ray disliked Kowalski and that he still thought the entire exercise was pointless.

Taking the plastic bag between forefinger and thumb, as if it were dangerous, Kowalski ripped it open and tipped the chain and pendant onto the wooden tabletop. He stared down at it without touching, almost as if waiting for it to do something. "I can't promise anything, Frannie. It doesn't always work."

A sudden revelation hit Fraser as he watched Kowalski eye the girl's necklace with trepidation. "You're a psychic!"

Francesca looked nervously between them, and Ray Vecchio just frowned harder. Kowalski said nothing, but the dark blush which crept into his cheeks was damning. "Nah, Constable Fraser," he said finally, still not taking his eyes off the evidence. "I'm just a guy who sees things… sometimes." And with that he laid the backs of his hands over the gold chain and closed his eyes.

Ray let out a theatrical sigh and rocked back in his seat, earning him a dark glance from his sister before she turned to watch Kowalski intently. Fraser too switched his attention back to the man.

For a long time, Kowalski's face was impassive, almost like he was sleeping, and Fraser wondered at the difference it made to his appearance. He looked strangely young like this.

Then Kowalski tilted his head, as if he was trying to listen to something far off. His breathing hitched and began to escalate as he winced and shifted in his chair.

"What do you see, Ray?" Francesca asked softly, leaning in.

"Dark. Cold under her hands. There's a strange smell."

"So she's alive?"

"Yeah."

"Can you see anything else?" Frannie pushed.

"There's broken glass, like a mirror and it's all jumbled up. There's some sort of sign. And a man… with a gun."

"What does he look like?"

Fraser started; watching the blonde man struggle with the images in his head, he had been so focussed on Kowalski's tale that he hadn't noticed Vecchio leaning forward.

"A hat. Denim jacket."

"Anything written on the hat?" Vecchio pressed.

"No. It's plain and… it's frightening… God, she's so scared…"

_… patterns under her hands, squares, smooth then rough edges… icy chill running up her fingers into her arms and shoulders… craning her neck up, there's a green neon glow, but the image makes no sense… smells dusty, damp, like the alley behind Daddy's work… a sudden noise and the door opens… no… no…_

"The smell," Fraser asked finally, "the strange smell. Do you know what it is?"

"It's strong. Like… fish. It's fish."

"What about the sign? You said there was a sign," Francesca interrupted.

"Yeah. Green sign. Bright. Broken in the glass."

"What does it say? Can you read it?" Ray asked. Kowalski grimaced and shook his head. "What does it _say_, Stanley?" Ray pushed.

"I don't know – it's jumbled, it's… green and… I don't know, I can't…"

_…he always waits until it's dark… she hates the dark, but she hates him more… she tries to make herself smaller… wishes she had tears left to cry…_

Ray pulled his hands violently off the little gold crucifix and rested them over his eyes, panting. "I'm sorry. It's hard. She's so scared and I can't… I'm so sorry."

The three of them exchanged tense glances as the sound of Kowalski's ragged breathing filled the little kitchen.

~O~O~O~

The following day, Fraser once again found himself outside the little back street shop belonging to Ray Kowalski. Pausing outside the window, he could see the man through the open doorway, standing behind the dusty counter.

At the sound of the door opening, Kowalski turned, a cautious smile on his tired face.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kowalski."

"Hey, call me Ray," he said quickly, coming forward into the shop. "Whoa! Uniform!"

"Ray, of course. Thank you. And yes, the serge is rather striking, isn't it?"

Ray blinked and nodded, then tilted his head and waited. "So, Constable Fraser…"

"How remiss of me. Please call me… well, my friends… that is, Ray calls me Fraser… or Frase… or, ah, Benny…"

"Yeah, Benny, but you don't like that, do you?" Ray Kowalski asked quietly and perceptively.

"Oh, I wouldn't say I dislike it, it's meant as an endearment, I'm sure, but it does sound a little…"

"Dumb?"

"Infantile."

"Dumb."

"Inelegant."

"D-U-M dumb."

"Dumb, yes," Fraser agreed, finally relenting, and the grin that he got in return was surprisingly open, the first unguarded, spontaneous reaction he'd seen directed at him by this man.

"So what can I do for you… Benton?" Ray enquired, resting a hip on a rustic oak table.

"I'm sorry?" Something about Ray Kowalski and his unpredictable nature had Fraser wrong-footed every time.

"I'm guessing you're not in the market for a dining set or hope chest?" Ray's sly smile told Fraser that he was being teased.

"I… er… no. That is, not at this time…" Fraser covered his discomfort by running a hand along the curve of a rocking chair back, feeling the grace of the shape and the smoothness of the finish. His mother had had something similar.

"Did you have any luck with finding Anna?" The smile was gone from Ray's face in an instant, and Fraser found that strangely disappointing. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you any more. Or did Vecchio say it was all a load of bull anyway?" Apparently Ray had no illusions about Vecchio's rather low opinion of him.

"We did try to follow up the information that you were able to give us, but…" Fraser trailed off, looking down at the grain of the wood beneath his fingertips.

"Yeah. Played this game before," Ray said cryptically. "So… was there something else you wanted?"

"Sorry?" Fraser asked, his head coming up. "Oh. No. Yes. What I mean to say is, I merely came by on my way home to see if you were all right. When we left last night you were rather upset."

"Yeah. It's hard to… distance myself. Sorry, I didn't mean to… uh…" He waved a hand in a confusing gesture, rather than finish his sentence. "S'one of the reasons why I don't, like, do it anymore. It kind of fucks with my mind. And you wouldn't believe the headaches."

Fraser was surprised that he wasn't more discomfited by the easy way the profanity had been slipped into the conversation, but it seemed to fit the personality of the man and his labile emotions. Ray Kowalski wore his heart on his sleeve, as the cliché went, every thought mirrored on his face and in his movement; why should his speech be any different?

"So where's the wolf?" Ray asked, peering round him toward the street.

Fraser's involuntary reaction – no more than a raised eyebrow - must have given him away because Ray straightened suddenly.

"Frannie called me this morning. She told me about the wolf," Ray explained, rolling his shoulders, suddenly guarded once more. "I'm not..." He pulled a hand out of his pocket and made another strange gesture between them. "... you know, doing any funny stuff." He looked unhappy that he'd had to explain that.

"Understood," Fraser said shortly. He shouldn't have come. Really, he had no business here. The man had tried to help and his own presence could only remind Ray of the upsetting experience he'd had. But Fraser had been concerned, and the place was only a few blocks from his home, hardly out of his way at all. He rubbed an eyebrow with a thumbnail and settled his hat on his head more firmly, preparing to make his goodbyes. But Kowalski's voice stopped him.

"You been up all night?"

Fraser nodded, feeling the truth of the statement in his tired body.

Ray nodded in sympathy, but continued, "I've been trying to think where we might find the things I saw all in conjugation…"

"Conjunction," Fraser corrected absently, and then realising what he'd done, looked up quickly to apologise.

But Ray didn't seem offended by his rudeness. "Yeah, s'what I said," he muttered and carried on his sentence, undisrupted. His arguments were sound and well reasoned as he listed all the things that Fraser and Ray Vecchio had hashed out late last night, the things they had spent all morning checking out.

"That's very thorough. Have you had dealings with law enforcement in the past?" Fraser asked.

"Law enforcement? Jeez, Ben, do all Canadians talk like that?"

Fraser opened his mouth to reply, but Ray interrupted him. Apparently it was a question that didn't require an answer.

"Yeah. I have. I guess Vecchio didn't tell you. I used to be a cop. Not for very long, but I guess the training stays with you."

Indeed, Ray Vecchio had not told Fraser of Ray Kowalski's former career; in fact, his partner had seemed reluctant to discuss Kowalski at all. Fraser had hoped to hear of the circumstances under which the Vecchios had met this man, and perhaps even what had made the two men so antagonistic towards each other, but despite Ray Vecchio's usual talkative nature, Fraser had had to draw his own conclusions.

He was about to ask Ray about the Vecchios when the doorbell chimed and the sound of raised voices interrupted them. Surprised, Fraser recognised one of them as being Francesca's.

"… please! There's nothing he can tell you."

Fraser turned to see Francesca trying to plant herself in the way of a large, prematurely balding man who was scowling and flushed.

"Which one of you is Kowalski?" the man growled.

Francesca turned toward Ray, her face a picture of remorse. "I'm so sorry, Ray. I never meant for him to find out…"

Ray's eyes flickered from Francesca to the irate man. "I'm Kowalski. Who are you?" he asked.

Fraser noticed the telltale signs of tension in Ray's wiry frame, the apparent belligerence of his visitor matched by Ray's stance.

"Ray, this is Tony Lombardi, Anna's father. Terri told him about yesterday…"

Ray's eyes looked saddened, but oddly resigned and Fraser wondered how many times Ray had had to face similar situations in the past.

"It's okay, Frannie," Ray said quietly. "What do you need, Tony?"

"You know something about my daughter?" the big man demanded, pushing past Francesca.

"Kind of, but I've already…"

"What do you know? And maybe you'd like to explain exactly how you know this. You seen her? You have something to do with this?" The desperation of the man was palpable as he closed the gap between himself and Ray. His breathing was erratic, his words forced and his hands opened and closed repeatedly.

Fraser watched carefully, instinctively moving closer to Ray.

"Of course I didn't have anything to do with…"

"You touch her? If you've touched her, I swear I'm gonna fucking kill you," the deranged man spat.

"Mr. Lombardi, I can assure you that Mr. Kowalski's part in this investigation is purely incidental and he is under no suspicion whatsoever," Fraser interrupted sternly, moving to place himself between Ray and Tony Lombardi.

For a big man, Anthony Lombardi moved very fast and Fraser didn't have time to stop the punch that landed squarely on Ray's cheek, snapping his head around and knocking him backwards into a stack of chairs.

"Where is she? Where is she? What did you do, you fucking bastard?" Lombardi was on Ray the second he fell, grasping his shirt and shaking him so hard his head hit the floor. It was clear that Ray was trying to fight back, pushing at him, trying to force him off, but the man seemed possessed, and Ray couldn't get his feet back under him.

With Francesca's help, Fraser dragged Lombardi off Ray just as the doorbell rang again and Vecchio burst into the little shop.

"What the…?" Ray Vecchio stepped into the fray, taking Francesca's place and quickly cuffing the sobbing man.

As soon as Lombardi was restrained, sitting on the floor in a state of tears and accusations, Fraser looked across to Ray, who had picked himself up and was standing, staring at the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around himself.

Francesca was crying quietly, unable to look at any of them. Her brother was speaking to her in an undertone, and Fraser overhead her tell him how she had wanted to give Terri some hope, to let her know that they were doing _something_.

Fraser found the phone and called for back-up, and then waited with Vecchio and Lombardi until the patrol car arrived to take him. Lombardi was inconsolable, veering from threats to apologies, one moment docile and the next straining to get free. The entire time, Kowalski didn't say a word, didn't even move, much to Fraser's dismay. Ray Vecchio gave the uniformed officers their instructions, then took his sister by the shoulder and led her toward the door.

"I'm gonna take Frannie home, Fraser. You wanna take his statement for me?" he said over his shoulder. He didn't wait for an answer.

Fraser watched the Buick pull away and then turned back into the shop. He was momentarily disoriented; the scene between Anna's father and Kowalski had been so short and violent it could almost have been a lucid dream. But a glance at Kowalski assured Fraser that it had in fact happened.

Ray was picking up the chairs that had been scattered in the struggle, stacking them with overstated concentration. Since his head was down, Fraser was unable to see what damage Anthony Lombardi's fist had done. "Ray..." he began gently.

"I don't want to press any charges. Just let the guy go. He's off his head. He doesn't know what he's doing," Ray replied immediately, crouching down to check the wood of one of the chair legs for injury.

"That's very understanding of you. Did he hurt you?" Fraser asked, trying to get a glimpse of Kowalski's face.

"Nope."

"May I see?"

"What for, Ben?" Ray straightened, keeping his back to Fraser. He sounded angry. "He hit me. Yes, it hurt. No, I don't need a doctor. Okay? It's over, it's doneski. Now if you'd just leave, I can get back to my… work."

Fraser wondered at the hesitation, but picked up his hat from the floor, where he'd lost it trying to subdue Lombardi. He turned towards the door and then paused. He'd been asked to leave – that's what he should do. But something felt wrong about this. Indecision was a weakness, he knew, and really, he'd barely met Ray Kowalski, but he couldn't bring himself to walk away without knowing more.

Who was this man who could be charming and funny and yet desperate and isolated within the space of a five-minute conversation? What circumstances had taken him from being a policeman, ASA Kowalski's husband and Francesca's friend to this tired little carpenter's shop on an out of the way, no-name street? What was behind the psychic gift that he had, and what made him so unwilling to use it?

Fraser knew in an instant of clarity that he was only the latest in a long line of people that Ray Kowalski had sent away and out of his life forever. This workshop, these tools, this wood was his refuge, his armour against the human race and its expectations of normality. This isolation was his choice, not his punishment.

Fraser turned and walked slowly around Kowalski, giving him a wide berth to show that he was no threat. The bruise was already blooming on Ray's cheek, an angry red stain that had spilled into the area around his left eye. The skin was unbroken but swollen.

Ray drew in a deep breath and lifted his eyes to Fraser's.

"It's okay, Ben. It's not the first time something like this has happened. You don't have to feel... responsible or anything."

"I don't," Fraser replied truthfully.

"And I'm not giving you a statement, because I'm not pressing charges."

"I know, I heard you."

"So why are you still here?" Ray shoved his hands into his pockets, his stance uncompromising.

"No one really calls me Ben anymore. I find... I miss it."

Of all the ridiculous things he'd ever said, that had to be the most surprising. He'd been expecting coolness, even hostility from this complicated man, but his unexpectedly direct question had provoked an equally direct answer that Fraser hadn't even realised the truth of until he'd said it.

Ray looked at him for an uncomfortably long time. Fraser forced himself to endure his scrutiny; at least he hadn't laughed when Fraser had made his embarrassingly pathetic response.

"Look, Ben, you don't have to..." Ray sighed and shrugged, his feet scraping on the dusty floor and making the motes fly up into the diminished sunlight that reached in through the windows.

"I know what you're doing and I appreciate it. I really do. But I'm not an easy guy to be friends with. You'll think you can handle it, you'll think that you'll be able to ignore it, but you won't. Pretty soon you'll be wondering about what I know about you and what I know about what's gonna _happen_ to you. Pretty soon after that you'll start resenting the fact that you can't keep secrets from me. You'll start avoiding me, trying not to touch me in case I..." another vague wave of his hand, "... see something. It's not usually long after that we lose touch."

"Is that what happened with your wife?" Fraser asked, surprised again at his own boldness; but Ray didn't seem shocked.

Ray smiled a little, then winced when his cheek hurt. "Something like that, yeah. We thought that love would be enough... well, it wasn't."

Then he smiled again, if it could be called that; it was really just a strange, tense quirk of his lips, and went back to checking the chairs over. "Don't worry. I'm not a recluse – I do have friends. Maybe not close, they don't know about me – I'm just the quiet guy from the bar, plays a mean game of pool. It's okay, Ben, you don't need to rescue me. I don't need it."

He didn't look at Fraser again, continuing instead to stack the fallen chairs.

Fraser knew he _was_ needed elsewhere and that a little girl's life could depend on him and his colleagues at the 27th, but it was with reluctance and several backward glances that he finally left the dark little shop and stepped back out into the morning sunshine.

~O~O~O~

There was a feeling of desperation in the Major Crimes division of the 27th district that afternoon. A tension was present in the faces and voices of everyone there and an edge of hopelessness coloured their eyes.

Ray Vecchio had called in every favour he'd ever been owed, but no one seemed to know anything. Several people with known 'family connections' had been asked to help with enquiries, but precious little progress was being made.

Fraser and Vecchio had just finished interviewing the distressed Tino Lombardi for the fourth time, hoping that the repeated questions would give them some new insight.

Tino was small-time with a big mouth, Ray Vecchio said – a bad combination in a city as tightly wound as Chicago. He'd made hints that he knew things to the wrong people and the price he was paying was out of all proportion to the information actually in his possession. Ray Vecchio had gotten the word out that Tino Lombardi had nothing either incriminating or interesting to the police, but if the people who had kidnapped Anna had heard this, they hadn't reacted. Fraser knew that Ray Vecchio feared this had become a lesson, a demonstration, to any wannabe soldati to keep their mouths shut and that the Outfit would not tolerate such showmanship.

"This is not their usual M.O., Fraser. Something's not right," Ray muttered as Tino was led out.

Fraser was tired, a bone-deep weariness that only determination and practice was keeping in check. He left Interview Room Two pinching the bridge of his nose and practically fell over Ray Kowalski, who was leaning against the wall outside.

"Ray!"

"Yeah?" Ray Vecchio replied, from behind him, coming up short when he saw a very wary-looking Ray Kowalski. "What are you doing here, Stanley?"

Ray's eyes flicked, irritated, to Vecchio, but he spoke directly to Fraser. "I think I could... I think if I... let me try again," he finally got out.

"Ray..." Fraser said gently, instinctively reaching for Ray's elbow, but checking himself before he made contact; after this morning's conversation, Fraser knew his overtures of friendship were unwelcome, or at least unnecessary.

"Christ, Kowalski. You want a matching one for that?" Vecchio asked, peering at the purpled skin of his eye.

"If you just..." Ray blew out a tense breath and swiped a hand over his forehead. "Just give me the fucking necklace again and leave me alone for ten minutes."

Vecchio rolled his eyes and scowled at Kowalski, but handed the files to Fraser and stalked off.

Fraser signalled Ray to follow and led him into Interview Room One, which was currently unoccupied.

"Ray, do you really think this will help?" he asked, closing the door behind them.

Ray walked to the frosted, meshed window, twitchy and unsettled. "Ben, look, I haven't done this for a really long time and you guys kind of surprised me last night. I think if I try again, I might be able to get more. But it needs to be quiet – no Vecchio, no Frannie."

Fraser noticed that his name wasn't on the list of exclusions, but forced himself not to read anything into that. "You know, Ray, I am aware that this is something you find very hard. I don't think anyone will think any worse of you if you decide not to try again," Fraser said cautiously.

"And see her on the news tomorrow, just another statistic?" Ray shook his head, staring down at the floor. "I need to know that I did what I could." His fingers went to his face, tracing the shape of the bruising.

"Did you put something on that?"

"Ice."

Fraser put down the case files and reached into his belt. "Put some of this on," he said and pulled out a small, screw top jar. "It will reduce the swelling and expedite the healing process."

"Expedite. Right." Ray smiled quickly, but made no move to take the pot.

Fraser unscrewed the lid and walked around in front of Ray, ignoring his brief look of surprise. He scooped some of the ointment onto his middle finger and lifted his hand to bruising. Ray eased back but then stilled when Fraser slowly brought the balm down onto his cheek. Fraser kept his eyes firmly on the angry skin, not allowing them to stray to Ray's challenging, clear blue gaze.

"What is that?" Ray asked quietly as he endured Fraser's help.

"It's probably best if you don't know – it always seems to upset people when I tell them," Fraser replied, gently working the slippery stuff into the bruising.

_… sitting in a small coffee shop, tracing patterns on the formica tabletop with his spoon, wishing, hoping… looking up at a square of sky, the smell of dirt, a small furry face appearing over the edge… the red uniform, the girl hiding behind him, the crack and flash of a gunshot… fire, bright and burning in his shoulder, in his chest… falling, falling…_

Ray swallowed and smiled. "Bad, huh?"

"Apparently" Fraser finished his ministrations, stepping out of Ray's space and putting the jar away without looking up.

"Listen, Ben," Ray began quietly as they waited. "What I said before, at the shop, I wasn't trying to..."

Ray Vecchio stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. With a heavy hand, he placed the now-familiar evidence bag on the table. He looked from Fraser to Ray and back, then with another scowl, he walked out again. "I'll watch the door for you," he muttered as he left.

Ray approached the necklace cautiously, circling the table before sitting down in front of the bag.

"Do you want me to...?" Fraser indicated the door.

"No, you don't have to," Ray replied without taking his eyes off the bag. "I… sometimes I forget... I get lost, when I'm, you know… not where I am, _who_ I am. Like I'm trapped – scares me, thinking maybe I won't find my way back."

Fraser listened, trying to imagine what Ray was describing. It reminded him of stories he'd heard as a child of shamans who'd walked in spirit dreams with ancestors and animal totems. Innusiq had loved to scare him with the versions in which the shamans went so far into the otherworld that they never found their way home again. Perhaps this is what it felt like for Ray, questing in a strange, unfamiliar place, unsure of whose feelings and words he was experiencing.

With a coldness settling in his belly, Fraser felt he understood a little of the distance Ray put between himself and the rest of the world. To lose the distinction between self and other must be truly terrifying, and it made his reluctance to embrace his gift painfully clear. And, as Anthony Lombardi had demonstrated, even when he tried to help, he attracted suspicion, anger and an air of "otherness", reinforcing his oddity and isolation.

And yet Ray had invited him to stay, invited him to be an anchor of sorts – someone to guide him back if he should lose his way. And while this wasn't the 'rescue' he'd spoken of, it did imply a degree of trust and reliance. Fraser thought perhaps that this was an overture – an admission of need that Ray must have found it very difficult to make; was it wrong of Fraser to take it as an encouraging sign?

He took the chair opposite Ray's and the blonde man nodded his approval. Quickly Fraser opened the bag and laid the glittering chain onto the scarred wooden table.

Ray drummed his fingers, rubbed his lips, then, his mind clearly made up, leaned forward and picked it up, wrapping the chain around his closed fist. His eyes closed as he held the gold necklace in front of his face.

Fraser watched as Ray's hand tightened and relaxed rhythmically in time with his slowing breaths.

"Birds," he said after a short while. "I hear birds. Gulls. Not close by. Nothing close by. I can see the sky out the window, high up...or I'm low down... she's low down, not me."

"Is she hurt, Ray?" Fraser asked, keeping his voice calm.

_…cramped legs, aching wrists, sunlight, bright and clear above her head, sometimes the birds go past the window, high, floating effortlessly, calling to each other…_

"No. Not hurt. Except wrists are sore. Cold though. Aching. Tired. Thirsty – they didn't come with water yet today." Ray's voice was dreamy almost, detached and vague.

"What else do you see?"

"Tiles. They always keep the door shut, so I never... she never gets to see what's outside."

"And out of the window?"

"Just sky. Sun's just disappearing below the sill. It's gonna get colder soon. It's worse at night. It gets so dark. And the chimes wake me up when I do fall asleep. Maybe they've forgotten me. Maybe they've stopped looking now – it's been two nights. How long do they keep looking?"

"Ray, Ray, Ray..." Fraser called quietly.

"Yeah?" His eyes flickered open, the swollen one still just a slit.

"Well done," Fraser said and untangled the chain from Ray's fist. He rose quickly and went to the door. "We need a detailed map of the Chicago area, particularly the waterfront," he told Vecchio urgently.

~O~O~O~

In the renewed sense of purpose that seemed to have infected the 27th, Fraser lost sight of Ray Kowalski for a while. The large-scale map in Lieutenant Welsh's office, pinned to the wall behind his desk, was the centre of attention. Ray Vecchio and Detective Gardino were tossing church names back and forth, assessing their suitability based on their clocks, their proximity to other buildings and the waterfront. The Lieutenant and Detective Huey were sticking pins on each likely candidate.

"The fact that the sun was visible through the window indicates that she is in a west facing room…"

"Yeah and the gulls and the fishy stink adds up to somewhere close to water…" Detective Gardino ran his fingers across the map.

Ray Vecchio wiped a hand over his face. "She could be anywhere – I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a big lake there." He knocked a hand against the blue expanse on the map. "This city is riddled with churches that have chiming clocks, gulls and fish bits. It could take us weeks to narrow it down."

"I hope not."

The assembly turned to the door where Francesca Vecchio stood looking pale and small. "The kidnappers have made contact again. If he doesn't cough the information up by midnight, Anna…" Frannie closed her eyes and swallowed. "We need to find her by midnight," she finished quietly and closed the door behind her.

"I don't know if this will work, but if you let me take the necklace and drive me along every place we've identified so far, I might be able to narrow it down."

Ray Kowalski kept his face down as every eye in the place turned on him. He was standing, leaned in the corner of the office, his arms folded across his chest again.

"Can you do that?" asked Tom Dewey, a detective, recently transferred from the 19th.

"Do you have a better idea?" Ray countered.

"No, but Louis told me all about the last time…"

"Gentlemen," Lieutenant Welsh interrupted, "I suggest that Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio take Mr. Kowalski for a drive. In the meantime, I want to know what it was that Mr. Lombardi said to upset someone so badly, and whom he said it to. Everyone he said it to." He paused, his nail pressed against his middle teeth as he studied the map further. He turned back to his crowded office and blinked. "You're still here – can anyone explain why that is?"

Fraser noticed that Detective Dewey opened his mouth to reply, but was hustled out by Detective Gardino, "before he got himself an ass-chewing", Ray Vecchio said in an undertone once they were out of the office.

~O~O~O~

It was apparent that Ray Vecchio's temper was rapidly fraying as they drove the lakefront. Fraser had toyed with the idea of asking him to return to fetch Diefenbaker from the apartment, but Ray's irritation and their time constraints had dissuaded him. Ray Kowalski said little, just sat in the front seat with the crucifix nestled in the palm of his hand.

It was dark already and the headlamp glare of oncoming traffic was making Fraser's head ache and he closed his eyes briefly.

"I don't think he can do this, son. You can't fault him for trying, but there are some things that you shouldn't trust to hocus-pocus and mystics."

Fraser raised his eyes slowly. His father sat, squashed beside him staring out of the quarterlight window and dressed in his favourite parka and fur hat.

Fraser cleared his throat to cover his muttered, "Not now, Dad."

"I'm not saying he doesn't have a gift, but if you ask him, he'll be the first to admit that it's unpredictable at best."

"Anything?" Vecchio asked for the thirty-third time since they'd started.

"I'm trying. It's unpredictable," Ray admitted. He sounded tired and disappointed.

Bob Fraser turned a knowing look toward his son that Fraser ignored.

"Look, Kowalski, we tried. You've done your best, but I think now's the time to admit we're done and go back to the old-fashioned way," Vecchio said, as he pulled up at a stop sign.

Ray didn't say anything, just clutched the chain harder and bowed his head.

"Fraser?" Vecchio looked to his partner for help in the rear-view mirror.

"Ray," Fraser said gently, leaning forward.

"Turn left up ahead, then left again," Ray said quickly.

"Left? That's taking us away from the lake, Stanley. Are you sure?"

"Ray," Fraser interrupted and pointed through the windshield at the small brick-built church opposite the left turn ahead, particularly at its prominent clock tower.

They found themselves in a dark courtyard, sandwiched between warehouses. At the end of the open area the shine of streetlight off water glittered, greasy and stagnant: a disused dock, a relic from a more prosperous time.

The buildings had billboards advertising the re-development of the warehouses, but the doors and windows of the first and second floors were boarded up and development of any kind seemed to be little more than a pipe dream.

"She's here," Ray said with a quiet certainty.

"Where?"

Ray blinked and looked around him, leaning down to catch sight of the tall buildings that flanked them on either side. "Here," he repeated, and shrugged. "We need to hide the car around the corner."

Ray Vecchio shot a significant glance at Fraser, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He moved the car further up, tucking it between the warehouse and the water.

While Ray Vecchio called in their location, Fraser joined Ray in the damp night air. Ray kept his head down, as if listening for something, then looked up at the building to their right, taking a few steps back and lifting his chin.

"That's the sign, the green sign I saw," he said quietly.

Sure enough, the green neon of an advertisement from the next street shone over the top of the roof of the building.

"So she must be in here," Fraser replied. "Stay here, back-up should be here shortly. Please tell Ray Vecchio where I've gone."

There was no obvious point of entry, so Fraser was forced to jimmy one of the shutter padlocks and climb in through a window. He listened intently, but there was nothing to guide him. The dust on the floor showed no signs of disturbance as he moved cautiously from room to room. He climbed the metal stairs to the upper storeys, the bright green glow of the sign coming in through the grimy windows and making sickly, eerie shadows.

The sound of a car brought Fraser to the east side of the building, where he pressed himself against the wall and looked down through the window into the courtyard. A station wagon had pulled up in the dark lee of the opposite warehouse. He couldn't make out the features of the man who got out, only that he was well built and dressed in dark clothing. Fraser watched as he walked quickly away, keeping to the shadows, then disappeared from view.

The girl was in the opposite warehouse.

Fraser moved, turning away from the window when he caught sight of a flash of light – a torch – up on the sixth floor. Ray Vecchio, his friend, his partner, was up there and probably hadn't heard the car, or else he would have been less careless with his torch.

Fraser ran as quietly as he could, his feet setting the metal stairs to ringing despite his care. He crossed the courtyard and followed the path of the man he'd seen, trying to find the entrance he'd used. It was taking too long; every second he wasted out here was a second closer to the kidnapper finding Ray Vecchio.

He briefly wondered if Ray Kowalski had had the presence of mind to update dispatch, but dismissed the thought quickly: the man had been a police officer, and he knew how to think under pressure.

Finally he found the small doorway, concealed by an odd angle of the building, and squeezed his way inside. It was much darker without the streetlamps and the neon, but Fraser found a stairwell and began to climb.

The sixth floor was bright in comparison to the stairs and Fraser took a moment for his eyes to adjust and to listen. He could hear a murmur of voices, low and strained. He followed the quiet hisses of hard sibilants across the open workshop area and into the corner where restrooms were indicated by peeling, ancient-looking signs.

Pushing open the door, he saw a man standing in the doorway to one of the lavatory cubicles. The only light came from the small window high on the wall at the back of the stall and it was hard to make out, but Fraser was certain it wasn't Ray Vecchio.

"Step away and turn around slowly," Fraser said, his voice flattened by the ceramic of the tiled room.

The figure straightened and stepped to the side as commanded. His head came briefly into the light as he turned and Fraser was shocked to see Ray Kowalski, looking stricken. Behind him was a small shape, Anna Lombardi, huddled against the wall, her hands held up at an odd angle, cuffed to a water pipe.

Fraser opened his mouth to speak, when a cold, blunt shape connected from behind with the point of his jaw.

"Don't do anything stupid," hissed a voice in his ear.

Fraser did as he said, holding his hands out to the side to show his compliance.

"Go on in slowly, then turn around," the man growled, a hand pushing between Fraser's shoulders to get him moving.

Fraser moved as slowly as he dared, and was heartened to notice that Ray had moved away from the girl and into the shadows. Fraser turned in the doorway to the stall, trying to see where Ray was hidden, but couldn't spot him.

The man kept his gun trained on Fraser as he opened his cell phone and dialled, one handed.

"This is Remy, we got some company down here. The girl's got a visitor…. I dunno… Looks like a Mountie…. How the fuck should I know? Ask the boss what he wants me to do now."

Fraser could hear Anna's muffled crying behind him.

"Don't worry, Anna. We'll have you out of here soon. My friends know where we are; they're coming for you," Fraser said quietly over his shoulder.

"Shut the fuck up!...No, not you. What's he say? Quick – I think there might be more of them… Right… Right… Ah, shit. No, I got it…I said I got it." He flipped the phone closed and pocketed it, putting both hands back on the gun.

"Okay, Red, over in the corner, hands on your head."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Fraser replied calmly.

"Try real hard," the man said, taking a threatening step closer to them.

"I'm sorry. I'm sworn to protect the life of this little girl. By now the warehouse will be surrounded by the personnel of the Chicago Police Department, so I suggest you lower your weapon and surrender it to me."

The man smirked. "That's not gonna happen. Now move or the girl gets splattered with bits of dead Mountie."

"Whoever you're working for, they're not worth the price you'll have to pay if you do this," Fraser said evenly.

"You have no idea," the man replied and raised his gun.

Everything seemed to happen at once, playing out in front of Fraser's horrified gaze in a sick, dark slow motion. The muzzle flare of the gun was bright and intense, the report off the walls deafening as it mingled with the screams of the little girl.

Fraser felt a sudden heavy thrust against him and he fell back into the stalls, his head cracking against the timber partition. It was hard to breathe and the darkness was dragging him down.

"Fraser?" That was Ray Vecchio's voice – nasal and heavily accented. He sounded scared.

Suddenly the weight on his chest was removed and he found he could breathe again. A torch lent its confined beam to the scene which Fraser's mind struggled to understand.

The kidnapper lay in the doorway, a pool of liquid darkly spreading from beneath him. Anna was sobbing, curled into as tiny a ball as she could manage, and Ray Vecchio was bent over the still form of Ray Kowalski, sprawled on the floor where Vecchio had pulled him off Fraser.

"You okay?" Vecchio asked, glancing up at Fraser.

"I'm fine. Is he…?" Fraser's voice was thick, a dizzy sickness grasping at him, making it hard to think.

"He came out of nowhere! Stepped in front of a damn bullet!" Vecchio said, sounding irritated. He often sounded irritated when he was scared, Fraser thought disconnectedly.

"Help Anna," Fraser insisted, crawling over to where Kowalski lay unmoving.

"Ray. Ray. Ray?" Fraser repeated, forcing down his fear as he gingerly attempted to find the entry wound. He patted his cheek and watched in shock as the man's eyes flew open and a huge smile briefly lit up his face before it was replaced by a wince of pain.

"Hey, Ben," he said weakly.

"How…?"

Ray shifted a little, wincing again, then pulled up the hem of his sweater to reveal a blue, police issue Kevlar vest.

"A vest – that's good thinking. But where…?"

"Louis and me go way back, Ben. We both worked down at the 14th straight out of the academy."

"Ah. There's obviously a good deal about you I don't know, Ray," Fraser said with a small, relieved smile and offered Ray a hand to help him stand.

~O~O~O~

The light bars of the patrol cars lit up the courtyard when they finally emerged. The CPD had spared no expense with paramedics, forensics and any number of uniformed officers – a possible Mafia-related crime had to be seen to be getting the attention it deserved, particularly when a child was involved. A crowd had gathered at the end of the street, craning their necks to catch every detail of the scene.

Ray moved stiffly to the patrol car assigned to take them back to the 27th. The paramedics had established that there were no broken ribs, but Fraser had seen the rather spectacular bruising already visible on his chest and shoulder. Fraser sat beside him in the back of the black and white, and winced in sympathy as Ray grunted each time the car turned a corner.

Outside the 27th, camera crews were already set up, jostling for position, flash guns dazzling them as they got out of the car and walked into the station.

"It's a damned circus out there," Welsh grumbled, eyeing the activity with a sour expression on his already dour face.

Fraser filed his report quickly and went to sit in on Ray's statement, which was nearing completion by the time he got there. Ray knew how it worked and answered all the questions briefly but succinctly, rubbing his temples and sipping water all the time, presumably trying to fend off the headache Fraser knew he would be experiencing as a result of the night's exercise.

By midnight they were finished. Ray Vecchio would have to face a board to investigate his use of a firearm, but it was merely a formality. There were witnesses to corroborate the necessity. Anna had been reunited with her parents amid grateful tears. The kidnapper had yet to be identified, but that job, and the subsequent task of finding out who he worked for, had been assigned to Huey and Gardino.

Fraser found Ray walking down the hall to the exit, his progress slow and obviously painful.

"How are you getting home?" Fraser asked softly, not wanting to make him jump.

"Hey, Ben, my car's still in the parking lot."

They walked in silence into the darkness behind the building. Lieutenant Welsh had already given the outline details of the case to the reporters, but when the press had followed this case so closely, they liked to have a bit more than Welsh was happy to give, so had dug in for the night at the front of the 27th.

"Is this your car?" Fraser asked, eyeing the sleek black lines of the automobile they'd stopped beside.

"Yeah, Pontiac Gran Tourismo Omologato – only 770 made like this one," Ray replied, leaning heavily on the roof, but smiling proudly.

"It's a fine specimen," Fraser said – not because he had any specific knowledge of classic automobiles, but because he had seen that look on Ray Vecchio's face too.

"You wanna drive me home, Fraser?" Ray asked, wincing again.

"Should you not be going to the hospital?" Fraser countered, cocking his head to one side.

"Nah, they've given me some happy pills, I just wanted to get home before I took them."

Ray held up his keys and swung them on the end of a finger, then carefully tossed them to Fraser when he smiled in assent.

They drove in silence for a while. Ray seemed relaxed and happy to let Fraser learn the car by himself.

"Did they not have roads where you learned to drive, Ben?" Ray asked with a little laugh when Fraser slowed down to adhere to a speed limit.

Fraser quirked an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

The number of cars in Ray's street should have tipped them off really. They drove down towards his little shop, Ray explaining where the garage was, tucked back from the street.

"Oh dear," Fraser said when he saw the TV film trucks and the assembled crowd turning toward them.

"Shit!" Ray whispered. "Take a right here, Fraser, we can get out around the back. Quick!"

But it was too late; they'd been spotted. Camera flashes began to pop, refracted by the windshield into spirals of blinding white.

Fraser took the right turn faster than he normally would have, and followed Ray's muttered directions back out of the maze of little interconnected streets. When the instructions were no longer necessary, Fraser drove them to Racine, parking the GTO out of sight around the back of his building.

Ray made no move to get out and Fraser sat with him in silence until Ray shook himself and seemed to take notice of their surroundings.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I know this is the last thing you wanted. I can't imagine who would have…" Fraser said, hoping very hard that he _didn't_ know who it was.

"It doesn't matter who it was. It's done now," Ray replied woodenly. "And I know what you're thinking. She wouldn't have. She's a lot of things, Frannie, but she's a good person and she wouldn't do that."

Fraser nodded, wanting to add the word 'intentionally', but inexplicably filled with pride that Ray wasn't casting around for someone to blame; which was ridiculous, he reminded himself: Ray's personality strengths were no cause for him to feel _anything_.

"Come up, Ray. You can stay here tonight. They won't find you here. Tomorrow, with any luck, they will have moved onto another story."

Fraser led the way up the stairs past the tired-looking doors of his neighbour's homes, waiting for Ray's comments, but none came. Fraser even looked closely at the man at his side when he opened his own front door, watching for any sign that Ray was horrified and biting back some version of "You _live_ like this?" But Ray seemed merely weary and perhaps somewhat interested, with no trace of scorn apparent.

As soon as the door shut however, Ray seemed to become unsettled, and Fraser wasn't sure if that was the evening's excitement or because he was a guest. Ray moved stiffly from window to window, as if this were a prison to him and he could only experience the outside from behind the glass. He also, Fraser noticed, stayed as far from Fraser as the small apartment would allow, the surprising familiarity they'd shared now gone, evaporated by their experience with the local media.

Even Dief noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere and took himself off into the night without a backward glance.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Fraser asked quietly, worried that he would startle Ray in his current introspective state.

Ray seemed to come back from somewhere far away. "Uh, nah, I'm fine. Not unless you want to." Obviously to demonstrate his ease, Ray sat down at the table, wincing as he did so, but was only able to stay still for a minute before he got up and unconsciously began pacing again.

"Are you in pain?" Fraser tried carefully, so as not to annoy Ray with his attentions.

"No, I took one of the pills. It's fine. It looks worse than it is." Ray smiled unconvincingly and lopsidedly to avoid the spectacular bruising all around his eye.

"You should put some more of this on your face," Fraser said, passing Ray the jar from his belt once more.

Ray took it and dabbed some more of the ointment on his skin, Fraser's eyes tracing the path of his quick, long fingers across the fine bones of his discoloured cheek. With a nod of thanks, he offered the jar back to Fraser.

"Keep it. I have more," Fraser told him, having to clear his throat to get rid of the breathless feeling in his chest. "Well, you must be hungry, I'll make us something."

When Ray was finally seated in front of an omelette and a salad, he at last began to show signs of relaxing. His shoulders became looser and he smiled more, answering Fraser's attempts at conversation more fully with each question.

"I'm sorry," he said with a rueful grin, pushing his empty plate away. "I get kind of antsy when I've been… you know. Once the headache passes, it's like I can't switch off. Used to drive Stella nuts. She used to make me sleep on the couch." Ray looked around the apartment as if for the first time. "But you don't have one, so I guess that's out."

"No I… I have a bedroll. You can sleep in my bed."

"Ben, I'm not taking your bed. You haven't slept in two days."

"I shall be supremely comfortable in my bedroll, Ray, I can assure you. It's almost second nature to me."

Fraser showed Ray to the bathroom and was once again surprised when Ray made no comment about the facilities. Most who had visited his apartment had been quite unable to mask their dismay at his simple domestic arrangements.

He busied himself with washing the dishes and making up his bed on the floor while Ray was gone.

"Thanks, Ben, I really owe you one," Ray said as he came back into the room, rubbing a towel through his damp hair. He'd obviously washed and put his own clothes back on, Ben noticed, as his t-shirt clung to him where he had failed to dry properly; his back and shoulders plainly defined by the thin cotton of his shirt.

"On the contrary. It is we who owe you. You saved a little girl tonight. Without your assistance we might never have found her in time."

Fraser could tell from the lift of Ray's chin and the sudden tension in his shoulders that he'd said something unwelcome, but for the life of him he couldn't see what. The certainty with which he held this view came as something of a surprise, having known Ray for such a short time; the gesture was hardly overt, but undeniably there. He retreated to the bathroom himself to ponder his choice of words.

It was as he was brushing his teeth that Fraser thought he might have solved it. Ray's thanks had been a personal statement, something between the two of them. His own response had been on behalf of the CPD and Anna's parents. With one sentence he'd taken himself out of the equation. Could it be that Ray was seeking to make a form of connection between them?

Perhaps the friendship that Ray had so emphatically declined earlier today in his shop was now something he desired?

Fraser quickly finished up and went back to his apartment. The lights were out except for his storm lantern, and Ray was lying tucked up in his bedroll on the floor.

"Ray," Fraser said carefully. He wanted to insist. He wanted to demand that Ray take his bed –if nothing else the man had stepped in front of a bullet for him today. "What kind of a host would I be if I let you sleep there tonight?"

"One who doesn't want a two-hour argument on his hands. Which he'd lose," Ray replied with a small secretive smile. "I'm a stubborn bastard, Ben."

"Ordinarily, I would take you up on that. I too can be most obstinate and tenacious – even mulish, pig-headed and arrogant, according to some." Fraser cast a surreptitious eye around the dark apartment, waiting for his father to agree.

"No, he's not here right now," Ray confirmed softly, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

"Maybe not, but he…" Fraser stopped, stunned into silence. The only other person he'd encountered who could see his father was Buck Frobisher, a man whose own mental stability had been called into question from time to time. It wasn't a fact he liked to dwell upon. But here was Ray, quite relaxed with the idea of the presence of his father's ghost and - at least in Fraser's opinion - quite sane.

"That's your dad, right?"

"Yes… but…"

"He's kind of unpredictable, isn't he?" Ray opened his eyes with a slight, humorous twitch of his eyebrows.

"Very," Fraser replied. "Ah… in the car. You heard that."

"The hocus-pocus thing, yeah."

"I'm terribly sorry. I had no idea that he… Do you see other…?"

"Nope, just him so far. Don't ask me why." Ray shrugged, not at all perturbed by it. Upon reflection, Fraser supposed that what Ray thought was normal and what other people's perceptions might be were two very distinct things.

"Well, I apologise for his rudeness. I'm certain he wasn't aware that you could hear him," Fraser said, although he wasn't sure that his father would have modified a single word he'd uttered in any case.

Ray rolled carefully onto his back, waved him off and closed his eyes again. "Sorry, I should have told you. I never know what to let on and what to keep to myself. Makes for some interesting conversations, I can tell you. Trying to keep track of what I know and what I've actually been told – well, it gets complicated."

Fraser, finally, reluctantly, lay down on his bed. "I can imagine." And he could. It irritated Ray Vecchio no end when Fraser made one of his leaps of deduction without talking it through with him first. Of course the circumstances were different, but the underlying principle was the same.

"Yeah. If you live with someone, it makes it kind of impossible."

"Stella."

"Yeah. Poor Stell. You know, at the end, she used to get this look whenever I touched her." Ray laughed but there was no humour in it. "That's what finally clued me in on the other guy, not having _seen_ anything. Jeez, it must have been impossible for her."

Fraser forced down the unconscionable irritation he felt at ASA Kowalski's infidelity and lack of vision, and looked across at Ray. His face was calm, a sad little smile curving the corners of his lips and Fraser wondered how he could be so forgiving. "I'm sorry. I can see why you choose to live in comparative isolation after the experiences you've had."

"It's not so bad, Ben. You make me sound like a freak. I see people. I go out. I just don't get too close to anyone. S'easier that way."

"But lonely," Fraser added.

Ray opened his eyes and rolled his head to look at Fraser. "Yeah," he admitted softly. He held Fraser's gaze, gently challenging him. "You don't have to be, though," Ray murmured. "Why are you?"

"I… don't know. I never really learned how to be easy with people," Fraser heard himself say. "I get… overwhelmed easily." He shouldn't be admitting this, he knew. These were words from the part of him that he kept separate, safely away from his everyday life of duty. It was lunacy to speak them; it made them real. And yet he continued, "I've… tried."

"Victoria," Ray said, nodding slowly. "Frannie told me. I asked her. I'm sorry, I saw this woman and I didn't understand…"

It was Fraser's turn to ease Ray's discomfort. "Yes, Victoria. I suspect you know it didn't end well."

"That wasn't you. That wasn't because of you, Ben. Just because she was damaged and couldn't love you, it doesn't mean that no one can." Ray sounded distressed, his voice becoming clipped and short. "You shouldn't give up – you have so much to give."

"Good advice from someone who's guilty of something very similar," Fraser countered, rolling onto his stomach to look at Ray more closely.

"Not quite," Ray said with a small, self-deprecating smile. "There's nothing wrong with you, Ben, you're just reserved. But me? There's a big something wrong with me."

"How can you think that? You just saved a little girl's life. And mine too, I suspect. Did you…?" Fraser was surprised that he stumbled for words in the same way that Ray did when speaking of his unusual gift.

"It's hard. I saw… something. It's not terribly reliable." The lantern flickered, drawing both their eyes to its subtle glow.

"You probably don't want to talk about this now," Ben murmured regretfully. He badly needed to sleep, but the lure of having Ray's undivided attention was compelling. He wanted to know about him, wanted to know about his life, his dreams, his fears, his highs and lows.

Ray looked at him squarely. "No, it's okay. I want you to understand. It's like…okay, it's like your life is a book, only the pages are still being written. What I can see… sometimes… is a single sentence from a single page. Most of the time it's a page from your past, like tiny snatches of your story – all out of context."

Fraser watched as Ray gestured while he spoke, his slim hands adding an eloquent simplicity to his disjointed rhetoric.

"But sometimes it's a page or two in the future – those are the hardest, really hard to understand because they're not…I dunno… fixed or something. They kind of come out of focus. And sometimes it's really tough to see the difference between the past and the future." Ray fell quiet, his hand raking through his hair, making it stick up in uneven tufts.

"Have you always been able to do it?" Fraser asked gently.

"Not really… it sort of really kicked in when I was fourteen. That was interesting. I nearly had a fucking breakdown."

"And you can do this with anyone?"

"Nope, not with people; things that belong to them, that were touched by them or whatever are easier. People are too, like, noisy or something. Jumbled. That's why I work and live alone – the noise drives me batshit crazy if there's a lot of people around. I try to block it out, but I can't always do it. Once in a while I find people who are… I dunno… who I click with. Them I can see. That wasn't Stell though. Stella was always really hard. I think she was still a little bit scared of it, in spite of all the years we were together. She didn't want me to know her like that." Ray shrugged, but Fraser could hear the pain and disappointment behind his words.

"So, to answer your question, yeah, I saw the girl and I saw you in the bathroom of that warehouse. I saw the dark, and the green light from the sign. Then there was pain… like fire… in your shoulder and chest. Except it turned out to be my chest."

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "So you deliberately sent me to the wrong building to try and stop it happening."

"That was you, Ben," Ray said. "You chose which building to search, I just…I didn't stop you."

"You could have been killed."

"But I would have saved your skin."

"It was irresponsible."

"I had a vest. I knew what I was doing."

"But I didn't. I would never have allowed you to…"

"Exactly."

A stony silence fell between them, the noises from the street outside filling the quiet with the odd car or barking dog.

This man was infuriating; brave and intelligent and compassionate, perhaps, but infuriating. Fraser briefly felt a stab of sympathy for Stella Kowalski, a woman he'd never really warmed to, but knew to be independent and strong-minded. She must have found it impossible to feel that she was laid bare before her husband, to be so powerlessly open to him, despite Ray's assertion that he had found her difficult, if not impossible, to read.

He could imagine how that would have infuriated a woman like Stella with her sharp wits and her complexities.

How could Ray ever hope to find someone who wasn't afraid of what he was or worse, afraid of what _they_ were when laid open to him? Ray's assertion that he found it easier to see things with an object rather than directly from the person themselves would be no comfort for a lover who wanted to spend a lifetime with Ray but not, necessarily, a life.

"When did you see me in the warehouse?" Fraser asked quickly, a sudden realisation making his voice sound sharper than he'd intended.

"The first time we met," Ray replied softly, as if he knew what was coming.

"When we shook hands – that's why you… So I'm one of the people you can see just by touching them?"

"Yes." His admission, direct and honest, sounded tinged with apology.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Suddenly Ray sounded guilty even afraid. "I have no idea. That's why I was so shocked. Usually I get noise, jumbles of images and voices and feelings, but you... I dunno Ben… it was like you were reading me a story, just one sound, one thought, one voice…"

"Perhaps because I don't have anything to hide from you." Fraser rolled onto his back and looked at the cracked, stained ceiling. "Or perhaps, even if I did," he said softly, "I wouldn't want to."

When Ray sat up and leaned over to look at him, Fraser didn't move or change the direction of his gaze, afraid that he might change his mind. Ray sat still for a long time, staring at him while Fraser tracked the crack that looked like the veins of an aspen leaf, the same one he'd stared at every night since he'd come here, that he'd focussed on in the aftermath of Victoria when the pain in his back had been nothing compared to the pain in his chest. He kept his eyes on its symmetry until the very last moment, when Ray's mouth was only a few centimetres from his own; then he looked and saw that Ray was smiling.

The kiss was soft and warm – offering, not taking, asking, not demanding. Fraser hated himself for making the comparison, but Victoria's kisses had been a longed-for torment, possessive and dark, filled with lust and hatred and despair.

The touch of Ray's lips was the difference between black and white, night and day.

Ray opened his mouth readily when Fraser swept his tongue across his lower lip. The taste of him was sweet and cool, and Fraser had to remind himself not to crush Ray against him, although his body yearned for that intensity, for fear of adding to the pain of the impact bruising. He kissed Ray deeply and gently, laying a hand on the back of his neck to keep him there.

When Ray pulled back his eyes were bright, full of questions and hope. "You're not… scared of me?"

"No."

"How come?" Ray blinked, gazing at Fraser with a growing smile.

"Because I know you. And because you're my friend." Fraser hoped the conviction he felt came across in his voice. He knew there was a connection between them – he'd known it even when Ray had denied it. Fraser kept his gaze steady and tried to hide the growing happiness and excitement that tumbled in his belly, the more sure he became of Ray's intentions.

Ray looked taken aback and didn't speak for a long moment. "Was that hard to say?" he asked finally, his voice suspiciously gruff.

"Not in the least," Fraser asserted and, taking his pillow and a blanket, he moved onto the floor beside Ray. He took advantage of Ray's confusion to kiss him again, gently easing Ray back down onto the bedroll.

Keeping his weight off Ray made the angles difficult but Fraser lost himself in the touch of cool lips and warm tongue, and didn't feel the discomfort. Ray was tentative, his hands brushing cautiously over Fraser's back, leaving him with a shivering ache wherever his fingers lingered.

"Ben," Ray whispered against his lips, into his mouth, stealing his breath. "Ben, Ben, Ben."

Carefully, Fraser eased back, staring down at the man beneath him with gratitude and surprise. Ray smiled, his bruised face making the expression lopsided. Fraser inhaled deeply, seeking to settle himself but the scent of Ray's skin, of the soap he'd borrowed, of the t-shirt he'd been wearing all day, gave Fraser a deep, burrowing hunger. An unreasonable need to protect this strange, unworldly man seized him and a desire to know him without any pretences or affectations.

"I want…" Fraser whispered.

"I want you to," Ray murmured instantly, his direct gaze certain and unwavering.

"I'll hurt you…"

Ray shook his head slightly, fumbled for Fraser's hand and laid it against his own face.

Fraser traced the line of his cheek, ghosting the tips of his fingers over Tony Lombardi's mark before following the curve of Ray's mouth, his jaw, his throat. In the lantern's feeble light Ray's eyes were dark, his eyelashes sweeping closed as he leaned into Fraser's touch.

Ray huffed a little. "I must look like some kind of…"

"Amazing, Ray. You look… amazing," Fraser insisted.

"Freak," Ray said, but the impact was lost in the breathless distraction of his voice.

"I believe current thinking suggests that it takes one to know one."

He took his time, his hands skimming Ray's body, seeking to know every inch of him and kissing him all the while. His fingers slid beneath the damp cotton of Ray's t-shirt, tracing the direction of the fine hairs he found there, following them down to the waistband of his shorts and below, pushing aside the stretchy knit fabric.

When he closed his hand around Ray's erection, Fraser felt his stifled moan and matched it with a reassuring growl. Ray was exquisitely responsive, leaving Fraser in no doubt about what was good and what was not. He lifted his mouth from Ray's, leaving him panting, and kissed a trail from his jaw, across his throat and down the centre of his bruised chest. He lingered over Ray's navel, licking into it, biting around it, then brushed his lips lower. "Can I?" he whispered.

Fraser felt Ray's hand come down softly into the hair at the back of his head, a reassuring touch, not a demand. "God, _yeah_," Ray groaned, arching up when Fraser freed him from his shorts.

He pressed his nose into the crease at Ray's groin, into the soft, dark curls at the root of his penis, into the cool skin of his scrotum, and breathed. The scent of him was heady, and Fraser enthusiastically lapped away any trace of soap to find Ray's unique odour beneath. Ray lay and panted under him, still and waiting.

The prickle of Ray's flavour on Fraser's tongue was intoxicating. He licked from the base of Ray's shaft to the smooth, silky tip, tasting the subtle differences. His skin was warm, salty and muted but at the crown his flavour was sharp and musky with a pleasant bitterness that filled Fraser's mouth, making it water for more.

He took Ray between his lips, feeling the smooth heat slide over them and onto his tongue. He swallowed around him, dragging a ragged moan from Ray's throat. Wrapping a hand around the shaft, Fraser alternated sucks with licks and kisses until Ray was shaking with need.

"Please, Ben… please," Ray murmured, his fingers restless in Fraser's hair.

Fraser hollowed his cheeks, setting up a good rhythm, and rubbed his tongue at the spot beneath the crown that made Ray whisper obscenities and pull at him. It didn't take long before Ray bucked beneath him, twisting and stretching as his orgasm shook him. Fraser rode the jerks, swallowing the warm floods of semen and didn't relinquish Ray's penis until it began to soften, and Ray's hands had become a heavy stillness on his head.

Fraser sat up slowly, letting Ray's palms slip from his hair to his shoulders and down his arms to his hands. He twined his fingers through Ray's, noticing the disparity between them; broad and slim, pale and golden, smooth and rough.

"Ben… fuck… that… wow!" Ray muttered with a sweet, tired smile.

Fraser raised their joined hands, twisting his wrist so he could place a small kiss on Ray's knuckles before he lay down beside him.

Ray turned his head and smiled again, directly into Fraser's eyes. "I want to… can I…?" He abandoned trying to find the right words and instead rolled, with some difficulty, onto his side and looked pointedly down at Fraser's groin, where his own erection threatened to irreparably ruin his boxers.

"Oh! Ray, really, that's not… not that I wouldn't enjoy your… that is to say, I'm sure that…"

"Ben."

"…and after the day you've had…"

"Ben?"

"…and your injuries, it would probably be more prudent…"

"_Ben!_"

"Yes?"

"Relax, would ya?" Ray laughed softly. "I'm not talking about anything… clever. I just want to…"

Ray's hand touched the hot skin of his abdomen, tentative and cool. "Please?" he asked.

Fraser swallowed and nodded, unable to resist Ray's soft voice or the sensation of another's fingers on his skin. People touched him so rarely and his uniform impeded even the most casual of brushes, covering as much of him as it did. The feeling of skin on skin was to be treasured indeed. He consoled himself with the knowledge that his own reaction indicated that Ray would not have to work very hard to achieve his completion.

Ray's eyes were wide, even the swollen one, as he slid his hand lower, working his fingers beneath the elastic of Fraser's shorts and curling a cool, uncertain palm around Fraser's penis. He looked determined, triumphant and more than a little scared as he bravely learned the length and weight of Fraser's erection, stroking experimentally.

And Fraser just fell apart.

He knew he shouldn't be so wanton as to work his own boxers down his legs so he could spread his thighs further apart. He knew the sounds he was making were almost animalistic and the way he arched into Ray's grip was selfish and demanding, but it was just too good, too perfect. He had to have it. And the dark smile that quirked the corners of Ray's mouth seemed to be there just to spur him on.

He'd been right about his response though, and it was soon – much too soon – that he was spilling over Ray's fist, gasping and convulsing as his hand slowed and stilled, cupping him while he recovered.

If Fraser had been conscious enough, he would have been ashamed that it was Ray who cleaned them both up with Fraser's discarded shorts, and who extinguished the lamp before returning to lie curled against his side. He could not recall the last time he had lain with such contentment and security.

As he drifted off to sleep, he checked that Ray was still there, once, twice, three times. The fourth time, Ray was gazing back with an unreadable expression on his face that Fraser could only just make out in the not-darkness of his apartment. But the weight of fatigue was too great and it dragged him down, taking the image of Ray's pensive face with him into dreams.

~o~o~o~o~

He awoke to fingers, warm and dry and gentle, stroking his shoulder, up to his neck and onto his jaw.

"Sorry, Ben, I didn't want to wake you, but your wolf is… I think he thinks I'm breakfast."

The distracting tickle of Ray's touch made it hard for Fraser to parse his sentence, and it was only Diefenbaker's scornful response that roused him sufficiently to open his eyes.

The wolf must have returned sometime in the night, because he sat with a disgruntled air at Ray's side, watching them pointedly.

"It's not that late," Fraser protested, although the light coming in through the windows indicated that it was indeed much later than he usually slept.

The wolf flicked an ear.

"Nonsense! I'm sure you used your nocturnal freedom to terrorise the local rodent population. I hardly think that starving is an accurate description of…Oh, very well, but I think your sudden enthusiasm for kibble is suspect in the extreme."

Dief trotted into the kitchen, his tail waving triumphantly while Ben apologised to Ray, found a clean pair of shorts and followed him.

After he'd fed and watered his smug wolf and made a trip to the bathroom, Fraser returned to the kitchen, uncertain what his next move should be. Ray hadn't stirred from their place on the floor, but it seemed presumptuous to return to bed and dismissive to begin breakfast preparations. Lost in indecision – _again_, he really had to get that under control – Fraser didn't hear Ray pad into the kitchen, lean against the counter and stare at him.

"You okay there, Ben?" The tease in Ray's voice sounded forced and Fraser realised that his behaviour was unsettling his guest. Of course, it must look like he was having second thoughts, but Fraser didn't know how to put Ray's mind at ease without exposing his own neediness. Ray's presence had a way of disarming him, making him say things that were imprudent and possibly unwelcome. Obviously Ray had lowered his habitual barriers to allow Fraser in, but how much Fraser could assume from this was still open to interpretation. Perhaps it implied an ongoing friendship, possibly some kind of relationship or it could equally represent a single night of connection - a gift - to two men for whom loneliness was a way of life.

Fraser didn't want to add to the emotional pressures on Ray by adding his own selfish desires and dreams to the equation. Unable to adequately express this, he fell back on what he knew.

"I was just wondering if you would prefer coffee or tea, Ray," he asked, smiling politely.

"Coffee, if you've got it," Ray said, sounding careful.

Fraser set the kettle on the burner and found two mugs, watching Ray from the corner of his eye. He'd pulled on only his jeans, and stood with his arms wrapped, characteristically, across his bare chest. The bruising was already edging to yellow at the periphery, but the impact mark was a livid, purple splash low on his shoulder. Ray watched him with a brooding intensity, questions and fears in his eyes that Fraser didn't know how to answer without adding to Ray's burden.

Fraser turned to his cupboards and pulled down the jar of instant coffee he'd bought for Ray Vecchio's infrequent visits. When he turned back, Ray was closer, right behind him. Fraser stilled, straightening and waiting for Ray's move.

"What's going on, Ben?" Ray's voice was controlled, quiet. "You changed your mind? Want me to go?"

"No."

"Angry? Scared? Disappointed?"

"Dis…? God, no!" Fraser gasped, the very thought of it laughable.

"Then what? What did I do wrong? Why have you gone all…polite on me?"

Fraser turned in the small space that Ray had left between them. He knew he should feel foolish, standing in just his shorts, but it was the last thing on his mind with Ray's unhappy face just centimetres away and his own body instinctively reacting to that closeness.

"I don't have much experience when it comes to matters…" He'd been going to say 'of the heart', but even that simple phrase seemed loaded with expectations this morning. "… of this kind. I don't mean to seem distant, Ray, I simply don't know what behaviour is expected of me."

Ray wouldn't meet his eye. "Okay," he muttered, "I can see that. Behaviour, yeah. I guess it depends on what you want."

"You."

Ray's head came up at that. "Yeah?"

Fraser nodded. "Very much."

He had to stop this. Once again, Ray's presence had undone him, pulling truths from him that he would, characteristically, have left unsaid. He seemed unable to curb this blunt honesty, which beset him whenever Ray asked a question.

Despite all his vows to the contrary, despite having sworn that he could never let himself be this vulnerable again, he'd fallen in love. God help him, he'd fallen in love with a man he'd known for two days. This kind of impulsive reaction had almost killed him last time, when the object of his desire had been possessed of such a darkness, that his attempts to save her had ended with him being ensnared by that same madness, a captive of her gravity.

And yet it was clear to him that Ray Kowalski was as far removed from Victoria's blackness as it was possible to be. This was a simple, honest man, trapped in loneliness and social isolation by the double-edged sword of his gift. Fraser knew Ray was right: he didn't need rescuing, no more than Fraser did himself. But that didn't mean that he wouldn't welcome understanding, friendship, and perhaps even love, if it happened by.

He was deluding himself if he thought that he'd be strong enough to refuse Ray's offer of friendship – wherever it took them. There was something compelling about the man, perhaps the similarities between them – neither of them fitting comfortably into society, both outcast by their oddity. Ray had a gentle quietness about him that Fraser enjoyed. But what Fraser found most attractive were the differences between them – Ray's inability to hide emotion, his knack of asking the hard questions without prevaricating, his casual charm, his unkempt attraction and his nervous tics.

Ray lifted a cautious hand, watching him for an unfavourable reaction, but Fraser didn't need to think about it; he leaned into Ray's touch, the long, rough fingers cupping his jaw and sending a shiver through Fraser's whole body.

Wordlessly, Ray brought his mouth to Fraser's, pressing gentle, warm kisses to his lips before stepping in to join their bodies and kissing him more deeply. He licked into Fraser's mouth, opening him up and taking possession. Fraser held on, twining his arms around Ray's waist and pushing his hips into Ray's unsubtly; showing Ray the evidence of their attraction, since he found the right words so difficult to frame.

"Wait… wait," Ray muttered, pushing Fraser gently away.

"Sorry, I'm not… I don't want to… well, of course what I mean to say is that I _do_ want to, but I'm not trying to…"

"Ben? Ben! Calm down, okay?" Ray said with an amused grin. "I just need to pee!"

"Oh! I see. My apologies."

Briefly lingering to touch Fraser's jaw, Ray turned and left the room. Fraser waited until he heard his door shut before he sighed and rolled his eyes at his own adolescent, flustered behaviour. Dief huffed and flopped onto his side under the window.

"Oh, shut up," Fraser growled.

The coffee was already made, and Fraser had pulled on jeans and a Henley by the time Ray returned.

"I don't suppose you have chocolate? Candy? M &amp; M's ?" Ray asked peering into the blackness of his coffee mug.

"I… ah… no. Is that what you usually eat for breakfast, Ray?"

Ray snuffed in surprised laughter. "Oh, no. Not to eat – they're for my coffee, but it doesn't matter. Black's good."

Understanding dawned. "Ah. I don't have M &amp; M's, but Constable Turnbull brings me Smarties every time he goes home on leave. Perhaps those might suffice," Fraser suggested, pulling several unopened boxes of candy from the back of a cupboard.

"Cool. Canadian style coffee," Ray said, seemingly delighted. He ripped into a box enthusiastically, rendering it quite impossible to reseal adequately, and dropped a handful of the bright chocolates into his mug. Fraser wordlessly passed him a spoon, watching the display with indulgent amusement.

Ray stirred, sipped and then smiled beatifically. "Perfect," he declared, including Fraser in his happy grin.

Fraser couldn't help the frisson of want that caught him low in the belly. Having Ray standing in his kitchen, half-dressed, barefoot, his hair still sleep-rumpled, and smiling at him like he was the best thing in the world was like a scene from another person's life. But despite that, it felt comfortable and safe to Fraser and a wave of happy well-being swept through him for the first time he could recall, a completeness that he hadn't missed until now.

Ray must have seen something of this on his face, because his smile turned knowing and predatory. He took another gulp from his mug, then placed it carefully on the table before moving slowly toward Fraser.

"You got somewhere you need to be? Got Mountie stuff to do?"

"Inspector Thatcher was kind enough to give me the morning off when I informed her of last night's situation," Fraser replied, watching Ray's approach without bothering to hide his hunger.

"That's good, because I've got nowhere to be until someone moves that news crew from outside my shop." Ray's movements were exaggerated and slow, almost stalking Fraser, although he had to know Fraser had no intention of trying to escape.

"It might take the police some time to achieve that."

"That's what I thought," Ray said, arriving nose to nose with Fraser, his warm, sweet coffee breath ghosting over Fraser's lips, making it impossible for him to do anything but fall into the kiss that Ray gave him.

They made it back to the bedroll without incident and without relinquishing the other's mouth. Ray's kisses were slow and hypnotic, giving Fraser a feeling of unreality. With the blinds still drawn and the thick, honey sunlight that crept around the edges making his apartment glow, he had a deep sense of being out of place and time. The ease he felt with Ray, the way he could touch him without thought or fear, was a novelty that Fraser should have been unsure of. Instead he had a sense of having had this kind of connection forever – that he didn't need to worry about it because it just _was_ \- always had been and always would be.

Ray's hands were knowledgeable, his mouth strangely familiar and his weight, once they had undressed each other and Ray had settled, carefully, on top of him, was comfortable. Welcome. They took their time, still not rushing to completion, but letting the feelings grow and bloom, experiencing each act as a thing in its own right. Every kiss was enjoyed thoroughly, each touch was a thing to be savoured and Fraser felt almost drugged by the intensity and focus of their lovemaking.

When, finally, they could no longer prolong their pleasure, they moved together, a rhythmic swell and ebb which confounded Fraser by delivering the most overwhelming but mellow orgasm he had ever experienced, stealing his voice and his very consciousness for long minutes afterwards.

Ray simply kissed him sleepily when Fraser rolled out from under him and took himself back to the bathroom. He took an unhurried shower, taking time to see his body, something he usually gave only cursory notice, in a new light, now Ray had touched it so thoroughly. The man in the mirror when he shaved was unmistakably still himself, but with a new awareness in his eyes, a humour and softness that hadn't been there two days ago; a hope that he'd never dared show.

Ray was still sleeping when Fraser returned and dressed. He roused Dief, who complained at the injustice of this, and replaced Ray's now-cold coffee with a new one, placing it carefully close enough for Ray to reach, but far enough that he wouldn't roll over and knock it.

Fraser reached out a hand to Ray's good shoulder, preparing to wake him enough to say goodbye, when he heard a familiar tread on the stairs, confirmed seconds later by Ray Vecchio's confident tone wishing Mr. Mustaffi an insincere good morning.

Fraser dropped his lips to Ray's ear and kissed him. "I'll be back later. Stay here and rest, Ray," he murmured.

Ray grunted and smiled slightly, making Fraser's stomach flip-flop.  
Then he rose, quickly signalled to Dief and walked out into the corridor to greet his partner in order to avoid explanations he didn't yet have.

~o~o~o~o~

The 27th looked like a war-zone. The number of TV trucks had swelled overnight, both at the front and the rear of the building. Ray Vecchio swore inventively as uniformed officers sought to contain the crowds that had gathered outside.

Fraser frowned. "I don't understand. The girl has been found. Why are they…?"

"I take it you haven't seen the news this morning?" Ray said sourly, narrowly avoiding a press photographer.

Fraser held his tongue until they were safely through the police cordon and parked at the back of the 27th. He scanned the crowd, some waving banners quoting scripture, others jostling forward to peer at the latest arrivals. Ray was already out of the car and stalking in through the glass door by the time Fraser caught him up.

"What's happened?"

"Your friend Kowalski is having his fifteen minutes of fame. Lucky guy," Ray grunted.

"In what way?" Fraser asked, a tightness settling in his chest.

Ray Vecchio picked up a newspaper from Gardino's desk on his way to his own and tossed it to Fraser as he sat down.

The picture on the front page was of Anna and her mother, obviously taken in haste as they'd been getting into a patrol car. But the headline made Fraser close his eyes momentarily.

**"Girl saved thanks to psychic – Chicago PD draft clairvoyant to solve missing child case."**

Fraser scanned the page, his heart sinking when they named Ray, his little shop and even his career history. Someone had done their homework very thoroughly.

"I have to make a phone call."

Ray Vecchio looked up sharply. "You know where he is?"

Fraser nodded shortly as he dialled the number of Mr. Mustaffi's apartment.

"Jeez, Fraser. They've been trying to get hold of him all night. Stella's beside herself."

Fraser blinked at Ray's casual use of ASA Kowalski's first name, but put it out of his mind when Mr. Mustaffi's gruff voice answered.

"Good morning, Mr. Mustaffi, this is Benton Fraser. I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but it is a matter of the utmost urgency. I wonder if you would be so kind as to knock on my door and have the gentleman there come to the phone?"

The response was not gracious, but Fraser heard the thump as Mr. Mustaffi dropped the phone and did as he'd been asked.

Ray Vecchio's eyes were calculating as he watched Fraser. "You let the guy stay with you last night?"

"His apartment had already been identified by the media. I didn't realise how intense their interest in him would be."

Ray Vecchio shrugged. "Well once the religious nuts have picked up on it, it all turns into a bloodbath."

"Religious?"

Ray Vecchio took the newspaper and turned the page, pushing it back to Fraser and indicating a full-page article accompanied by a photograph of a crone, peering into a crystal ball.

** "Religious groups outraged by CPD's supernatural advisor."**

Fraser had only read half of the fanatical rant when Mr. Mustaffi's laconic voice called him back.

"He's not there."

"I see. Would you mind going inside and checking…?"

"I did that. No one there."

The line went dead.

~o~o~o~o~

The crowd outside the little carpentry shop was almost as bad as the one at the 27th. The narrowness of the street was making it impossible to pass, so Ray parked the Buick and they were forced to push their way through the placard-waving crowd and across the police line that surrounded the building.

Ray Vecchio went and exchanged information with the officer in charge, and Fraser knew it wasn't good news from the terse way Ray nodded and made his way back.

"He hasn't showed up. We can wait; the landlord is on his way with a spare key."

"He may have left some indication of his intention at my apartment," Fraser said, hoping that would be the case. Or perhaps he might have seen the newspapers and returned there to wait. He found it impossible to predict what Ray might do under this kind of pressure.

"Let's swing by your place, then," Ray agreed.

The drive there was quiet. Fraser felt too distressed to offer up any theories and Ray Vecchio seemed tense to the point of anger.

"You and your waifs and strays, Fraser. Do you have to adopt all of them?" Ray Vecchio asked petulantly as they climbed the dark stairs to Fraser's apartment. "There _is_ a reason for the survival of the fittest thing, you know."

Fraser barely acknowledged his partner's comments. Dief was already indicating that Ray's scent wasn't strong enough to suggest he was in the building, but Fraser had to see with his own eyes.

The apartment looked as it had this morning, other than the bedroll, which had been inexpertly folded and placed at the foot of Fraser's bed. In the kitchen, Ray's coffee mug was washed and left to drain. The smashed Smartie box had been put away. Fraser had a sickening sense of déjà vu as he recalled how thoroughly Victoria had erased her presence from his apartment; it seemed that Ray too had never been here.

Moving to the bedroll, Fraser grabbed at the pillow, so Dief could follow Ray's scent, and almost missed the piece of paper that fell from the folds.

_Thanks Ben. Seems you rescued me after all.   
Talk later, Ray._

"What's he say?"

"Nothing pertinent," Fraser said and hesitated just for a second before passing the note into Ray Vecchio's outstretched hand.

Ray scanned the note, his eyes flicking back to Fraser. "You don't know this guy, Fraser. He's…" He shook his head. "He's not the most… stable of characters."

"An opinion you've formed from personal experience or from conversations with ASA Kowalski?" Fraser asked, keeping his tone polite and his face strictly impassive as he took the note back from Ray's unresisting fingers.

"Both."

"I see."

"Look, Benny, it's nothing personal… it's just…"

"I suggest we return to the carpentry shop, Ray. Perhaps there is some clue as to his whereabouts there." Fraser walked out of his apartment without waiting to see if Ray Vecchio was following.

Ray drove them back to the shop, taking the same route as Fraser had taken the night before.

"There was this case," Ray began quietly, working his way through the labyrinth of backstreets. "About nine years ago. Down at the 19th. Extortion. Corruption. Drug-dealing. A real party going on, you name it, okay? So IA was called in, of course – all quiet, looking to find the source of the rot, right?"

Fraser continued to stare out of the window. He was listening to Ray Vecchio's story – he had wanted to hear this ever since he'd met Ray Kowalski – but didn't trust himself not to let his emotions show on his face.

Fraser heard Ray Vecchio sigh before he continued. "So Kowalski's been on the force for a couple of years. He's getting himself a bit of a name for his arrest rate, but also for being a little volatile, you know? Kind of unpredictable. But a good cop.

So whoever was behind all the bent stuff gets the nod that the IA's closing in. Someone panics and it all goes to shit. There's a report of a multiple homicide… cops… Kowalski is the first one on the scene."

Fraser couldn't help himself. He turned his head and watched Ray Vecchio's face as he laid out his story. Ray eyes didn't stray from the traffic.

"Five cops dead in this sleazy little warehouse off South Lakeshore. No evidence of anyone else having been there other than the poor bastard who heard the shots and went to look. Anyway, it all looks pretty straightforward. There's stuff linking three of the stiffs to the corruption angle and it's assumed that the other two stumbled into something they weren't expecting. Except… one of the implicated cops is a buddy of Kowalski's. So instead of having a nice tidy package for IA, Kowalski starts babbling about the whole thing being a frame up. That they hadn't all shot each other, that there had been three other men there. And the best part was, that according to Kowalski, one of those men was his own Lieu. Guy called Sam Franklin."

Fraser listened with a feeling of hopelessness as Ray Vecchio recounted how air-tight alibis and lack of evidence had called Ray Kowalski's increasingly vehement accusations into question – particularly since he hadn't been able to explain how he knew about the other gunmen. He'd been suspended from the force pending psychiatric evaluation and, ultimately, relieved of his badge due to mental instability.

Ray Vecchio's face was bleak as he drew up at traffic lights. "Eight months later IA's back investigating irregularities at the evidence store when they find copies of the original coroner's reports on the deaths of two of those cops from the warehouse. Turned out they'd both been dead for four hours before they were dumped with the others and someone had switched the reports. Sam Franklin had shot them someplace else, called in accomplices to set up the scene, then had them killed too to make it look like all the ends were tied up. Kowalski's buddy was the only one not implicated in the corruption case – he was just along for the ride that day."

"And Ray Kowalski?"

"Nervous breakdown. Even when he'd been vindicated, he was still so burned out, he couldn't come back. In and out of rehab for a couple of years, some alcohol problems. Took its toll on his marriage; Stella found it hard to deal with, what with her career taking off and everything. They finally split three years ago. Now it's just him, his turtle and a whole bunch of wood."

"But he'd been right all along," Fraser said without inflection.

"Yeah, for all the good it did him."

"117, please respond?"

Ray Vecchio reached over and picked up the radio.

"117, go ahead."

"Reports of a 10-15 on Downey Street."

Fraser felt his neck prickle as he recognised the address of Ray Kowalski's apartment. The reported civil disturbance could just mean that the crowd was becoming unruly, but did that perhaps indicate that Ray had returned?

"10-76, Dispatch."

Ray pulled away from the traffic lights with a roar.

"117 please advise 10-77. Situation now reported as 10-70."

Fraser picked up the radio and answered as calmly as he could "Acknowledged dispatch. We will be at the scene in three minutes."

Fraser could smell the fire before he could see it, its scent acrid and bitter. The police had moved everyone well back and the banners so prominently displayed earlier now lay discarded in the street as people craned their necks to see the flames.

Fraser felt a sense of desperation as he worked his way through the crowd. Thick, black smoke rolled out of the smashed shop-front and out of the windows of the apartment upstairs. Small explosions punctuated the screams of the approaching sirens as Fraser remembered Ray Kowalski's jumbled workshop, full of solvent containers and tins of varnish and stain. The fire had well and truly taken hold, already spreading into neighbouring buildings.

"What happened?" Ray demanded, flashing his badge at a harassed looking uniform.

"Some God freak got through with a Molotov cocktail screaming about witches and evil. Whole place went up like…"

"Was there anyone inside?" Ray interrupted.

"Nope."

"Are you certain?" Fraser was aware that his voice sounded hoarse, and he deliberately avoided Ray Vecchio's eye.

"Yeah, two of our guys just came out. There's no one home," the officer said with confidence.

Fraser breathed through his nose, unable to get the calming breath he needed due to the overwhelming smell, and watched as the first fire truck arrived, spilling men and equipment into the tiny street.

Above them, there was a low, thudding boom, and the windows of Ray's apartment blew out, casting shards of glass across the sidewalk.

"And that's it for the turtle," Ray Vecchio said quietly.

~o~o~o~o~o~

There was nothing left of Ray's shop, or his apartment, and by the time the fire chief allowed Fraser to enter the burned out shell, all that remained was a wet, black sludge that had once been a life and a livelihood.

Fraser hadn't stayed long.

There had been no word on Ray Kowalski. The arsonist had proved to be a religious zealot who was unrepentant of his actions, quoting obscure scripture and declaring his faith in tones of rapture when pressed for his motivations.

The local newspapers were full of the story, although events elsewhere in the country had bumped Ray's story off the top spot on the news channel that looped around and around in the background at the 27th, putting Fraser's teeth on edge.

He wondered if Ray Kowalski had seen it. He wondered why he didn't make contact. He wondered if he'd be able to live with the disappointment he'd feel when he got home tonight to find that Ray hadn't returned… because Fraser knew he wouldn't. He knew.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Fraser stared into the mug in front of him. The enticing aroma of hot coffee was good, but not good enough to make him drink it just yet. Much of Fraser's life felt like that these days.

It wasn't that there was anything _wrong_, per se, but that nothing was _right_.

Fraser cursed himself for a lovesick idiot and stirred his coffee, watching the smooth reflection of the sunshine through the window unmade in the swirl.

He'd been made a fool of before by love, but this time he felt all the foolishness was his own. Not by any standard he knew of had those few hours in this apartment in Chicago with Ray promised anything at all. There had been no words spoken of love, commitment or any other stupid, romantic ideal. Fraser could only assume the misery that had dogged him since that day was of his own making – seeing something that wasn't there, hoping for something that had never been offered. He'd convinced himself of sentiments that simply were not reciprocated.

And yet he'd felt so sure – as unwilling as he had been to embrace the idea of a connection between them after his previous experiences, he'd been certain that Ray Kowalski had cared for him, had bonded with him, that they were _right_ together.

Once again the elusiveness of 'right' had tricked him.

He'd been mistaken.

Ray Kowalski was officially listed as a missing person, one of the thousands on a database that never seemed to get any shorter. At first he'd been afraid that Ray had suffered another breakdown in reaction to his sudden brush with fame. It had taken several days for the furore to calm down, and he'd hoped that the end of the story would have prompted Ray to return.

It hadn't.

His father's itinerant appearances had become markedly more frequent in the few weeks after the fire. Fraser knew he'd been trying to offer him some comfort, but he'd refused to acknowledge him if he even touched on the subjects of loneliness or love. His father had eventually taken the hint and left him mostly alone.

He hadn't felt comfortable with asking ASA Kowalski for aid or advice, despite the burgeoning relationship between her and Ray Vecchio. The few times she had mentioned Ray in Fraser's hearing, she had seemed unconcerned by his prolonged absence. Fraser had begun to wonder if she knew Ray's whereabouts and if she was in touch with him… which would imply that Ray had _chosen_ not to contact Fraser.

Those were the worst days.

Therefore when, five months later, Canada had deemed his penance was done and he'd been offered a transfer to Fort Assiniboine, Fraser had taken it. Ray Vecchio had protested, but Fraser knew that with Ray's impending nuptials he wouldn't be missed for long.

Fraser had been back in Canada for six weeks now and even the initial joy at being in his own country again had been tainted by his dissatisfaction. The town was nice, small enough to be a community but large enough to maintain his own personal anonymity once he was off duty.

The people were pleasant and had welcomed him with smiles and words, if not with open arms. There was enough work for him to be sufficiently tired after a day at the detachment, and the mix of fieldwork and deskwork kept him fulfilled and occupied. His house, provided by the RCMP, while rather soulless, was larger and better appointed than he was used to and far enough from the detachment that he felt the distance from his work at the end of each day. His colleagues were cordial and efficient, and their overtures at friendship had been generous even if he hadn't acted upon any of them.

And yet this feeling persisted, that something was missing. He'd been alone for a long time, so why did this feel so wrong? He ought to have been accustomed to solitude.

The bell on the café door pinged, letting in a surge of cool, fall air with Elsa's second customer of the day. He knew what it was like to be stared at; even without hostility, it was an uncomfortable sensation. So he didn't look up, but continued swiping patterns on the Formica tabletop with his spoon and the coffee drips. Under the table, Dief got up and went to greet the new arrival. He must be worse company than he'd realised, Fraser thought, if Dief would rather share the companionship of strangers.

Lost in these melancholy thoughts, Fraser stirred his coffee again, preparing to drink it, no matter how imperfect. He heard Elsa greet her new customer, and his mumbled response. Watching his coffee still, Fraser irrationally wished that he had some Smarties to sweeten it, just as Ray had on that morning at his apartment. He'd often wondered what the benefit was compared to adding normal sugar. Just another of Ray's strange little quirks that he had never had time to find a reason for.

He wrapped both hands around the mug, seeking warmth, but as he lifted it to his lips, a hand appeared on his table. Bizarrely it was holding a box of Smarties.

It took Fraser a few moments to register Dief's happy vocalisations and the arm to which the hand was attached. And the shoulder. And the neck. And the tentatively grinning face of Stanley Raymond Kowalski, standing there as if the last seven months had been nothing more than a prolonged and disturbing dream.

Ray scooted round to the opposite side of Fraser's booth and sat down. His smile diminished slightly and turned polite when Elsa brought him a mug and filled it for him.

"You'll get your first taste of a Canadian winter before long I reckon, Mr. Smith. You ready for that?"

"I guess we'll find out soon enough, Elsa. And it's Ray," Ray murmured.

Elsa dimpled. "You'll do fine. You're a resourceful sort, I can tell. Can I get you anything else, Ray?" she asked.

"No, thanks. This is all I need," Ray replied, his eyes flicking momentarily to Fraser.

Fraser was relieved that Elsa had acknowledged Ray's presence, because he wasn't sure if this was one of the strange visions he was prone to, like the ghost of his father. The shock of seeing Ray again was only just beginning to abate and Fraser swallowed to hide his reaction.

Ray ripped open the pack of candies, counted six into his own mug and six into Fraser's, then, taking a spoon, he stirred, first Fraser's mug and then his own.

Fraser found himself utterly at a loss for words. There was so much to say, it was like an impasse in this throat with each comment wanting a voice, but none of them being the right way to start.

"Hey," Ray said softly, and Fraser was grateful for the opening.

"Hello, Ray." His voice was steady, which surprised him.

"How've you been, Ben?"

He found himself saying "Fine," which was about as far from the truth as it could be without him actually having expired.

Ray nodded and blew on his coffee, then sipped it gingerly. He turned his head to stare out of the window. "What do you think? It gonna snow yet?"

Fraser had facts in his head. He knew the weather forecast for the next five days. He knew the way the air smelled, and it didn't smell like snow yet. He knew the barometer at the detachment had been holding steady, indicating a settled period for the foreseeable future. He knew a dozen ways the Inuit predicted weather patterns, and many stories that went with that knowledge.

None of it seemed appropriate.

Strangely, Ray didn't seem to expect an answer. He sipped again and let the silence between them lengthen. Fraser's coffee turned cold, while Ray's steadily decreased until he tipped back his head to catch the last drops.

Fraser knew that Elsa was watching them, pretending to clean the counter, probably intrigued by the strange lack of conversation between two people who had appeared to know each other. He couldn't blame her – business was not exactly fast at… well, at anytime.

Ray wouldn't catch his eye, but Fraser couldn't drag his own gaze away from Ray's face. The same Ray he'd remembered, his hair still short and spiked, but now his natural dark ash lightly thread with silver. He wore thin metal-framed glasses and he looked tanned and healthy.

"Ray…"

"You about done there?" Ray asked quickly, getting to his feet and digging in his pocket for money.

Fraser and Dief followed Ray out into the chilly sunshine, waiting for him to pull on his padded jacket. He didn't seem to feel the awkwardness that had Fraser wrapped in knots.

"How did you find me?"

A little smile hovered around Ray's lips as he pulled a familiar screw-top jar out of his jacket. "It was good stuff, Ben. I healed up real fast."

Fraser was surprised to realise that Ray was still holding the jar out to him, offering back the only point of contact Ray'd had with him for the past months. His eyes were steady and his mouth set, he looked determined and so brave it made Fraser's heart thump unevenly.

"Keep it, Ray. I'll refill it for you. You never know when…"

"I didn't want to go," Ray interrupted, suddenly breathless. "But when I… I went out to get… it doesn't matter. There were people with signs and I… I freaked out. I meant to get away for just a few days. I thought everyone was… I didn't mean to…" He seemed to run out of steam, dropped his head and wiped a hand around the back of his neck. "I'm so sorry, Ben."

Fraser could see Elsa cleaning the end of the counter that enabled her to see them, stood on the sidewalk outside the café. She waved a little bit when Fraser caught her unsubtle staring.

Tucking a hand under Ray's elbow, he encouraged him to walk slowly down the quiet main street, with the wolf trailing along behind.

"I wanted to call you. I dialled the 27th so many times, but I… I didn't know who'd… I wasn't sure…"

"Who'd leaked your address and involvement to the press."

Ray nodded sadly.

"Perhaps a letter? I assure you I had nothing to do with…"

"I know that. I _know_ that," Ray said, pinning him with a two fingered point. "But I'd seen you here. I knew you were coming - I just didn't know when. I don't usually see so far ahead, so I've been here for four months, waiting, thinking you'd be here any day." Ray seemed to run out of steam. "See, I knew I'd see you again."

Fraser halted and rubbed his eyebrow, looking up and down the street, anywhere but at Ray's sad, hopeful face. "I didn't."

"I get that now. I'm sorry," Ray whispered. "Give me another chance."

"Why are you here, Ray?"

"I heard you had a lot of wood up here." Ray attempted a smile then closed his eyes briefly. "Sorry. I'm here because you are, Ben. I love you, you know. This is home. Will be home. Yours and… and mine."

Fraser stopped, turning Ray to face him. "You've seen this already, Ray. You've seen me here… with you?"

"Yeah, pretty freaky seeing me through your eyes," Ray admitted, a softness to his face that Fraser couldn't quite place, "but like I told you, it's not always… it doesn't always make sense. Until it actually happens…"

As his hand came up, Fraser felt the last of his anger wash away. Despite Ray's protests, Fraser knew that Ray had foreseen this - and their future here. There was little point in prolonging his irritation when he could be back at his house, discovering the answers to all the questions that two days with Ray had not provided. There would be time for apologies and explanations later, he hoped.

Because as much as Fraser had been hurt, as low as he'd felt, there was next to nothing he could think of that would stop him being in love with Stanley Raymond Kowalski Smith.

And he'd come back.

Ray's cheek was cold and rough under his fingers, and he leaned into Fraser's hand, his eyes fluttering closed. When he opened them again, a blinding smile lit up his face.

"Let's go home, Ray." Fraser dropped his hand and set off walking toward his end of town, only to have Ray grab a handful of his jacket and stop him.

"We live this way – little place off the Kanasis road. We don't own it yet, but old man Doucet is coming around to the idea. It needs some work, but I've done the roof and it's sound," Ray explained, towing Fraser behind him as he talked, his face suddenly animated. "The window in your study leaks, so that's the next thing to do before winter sets in. And you need to have a talk with your dad about keeping the noise down. Damn sawing all night, it's not… And then we need to fix up the barn before the puppies…"

"Ray. Ray. Ray. _Ray_!"

Ray stopped, mid-flow and turned to look at him, his shining face full of confusion. "What?"

Fraser looked at this man he loved and had a brief vision of his own; how nothing in his life would ever be the same again. Where he'd had order, duty, logic and sterility there would be mess, noise, nonsensical conversation… and love.

"Nothing," Fraser replied and took his hand.

Fin


End file.
